Page 15 of One Wrong Move


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“Oh, thank you, Lord.”

“Amen,” he said.

“What now?” she asked.

“Well, the good news is the ledge is holding us for now.”

Her chest squeezed. “And the bad?”

“We’re at a precarious angle, and—”

The Bronco slid.

“Aaaaah!” She braced herself with one hand on the doorframe, the other with a flattened palm on the roof.

EIGHT

ROCKS GROUND BENEATHthe Bronco’s tires, and Andi’s throat squeezed shut.

The Bronco slid to a gravel-crunching stop.

“That’s the bad news,” Christian said, his hands braced on the dash.

Her breath hitched. “Any good news? Will help come?”

“If anyone witnessed what happened, they’ll call it in, but...”

“We don’t have time for that.”

“Right.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“Yep,” he said.

Yep was not an answer.

“Christian?”

“Okay,” he said, assessing their situation. “We need to get out of here.”

“Agreed.” She nodded, unbuckled, and shifted.

And so did the Bronco.

She froze as it slid again before rocking to a lurching stop.

He held his hands out in a steadying signal. “We need to get out of hereverycarefully and climb up.”

“Climb up?” Was he kidding?

“We’ve got this.” His voice remained calm. How could he always be so calm?

She took a shallow breath, trying not to full-out panic.

“Okay,” he said. “I want you tovery slowlytry and open your door.”

She shifted, and the Bronco rocked. She held her breath until it stopped.

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